


Tutelary Biker

by tigereyes45



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: F/M, Mentions drinking, mentions smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: There's been this kid coming into his favorite bar lately. Tall, and completely covered from head to toe. No way is he old enough to be in the dive bar. So Doug does something about it.
Relationships: Jim Lake Jr. & Original Character(s), Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76





	Tutelary Biker

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by Le0na

Doug was a regular at the shitty hole in a wall bar called Dick's Diver. The name was a joke. Not just because it wasn't that great, though it wasn’t, but it was named after the worst restaurant the owner had even been too. Some small-town diner belonging to an ass named Richard. Doug wasn't just any old regular. He was a reliable one, stopping by the bar once a week at least. Most weeks he stops by at least three times. On busy ones where he's out of state, he lets Old Grayson know he won't be by. Partially because he and the owner had that sort of repertoire, but mostly so he doesn't go making drinks that'll just go to waste.

A repertoire so old it was stale from such stories. Tonight Grayson found a new soul to bother with his stories. A tall fella with a unique helmet on his head. It was rare enough for someone to come into the bar wearing their helmets, but sometimes they just don't wanna be seen. Though most of the time idiots like that were too tired, or too oblivious to notice they had left them on. Not this guy. Doug was sure of that.

The way he moves gives it away. When the stranger walked in he wasn't shaking like an addict. There were no half steps that most drunks take. He sits at the bar, arms crossed against the cool, stainless, dyed black wood. Keeping those arms out in front of him, leaning away from the old man, even as he leans closer over the bar just to talk to him. Doug's grip tightens on his drink as he watches them. Grayson was finishing the part where he found a hair tie in his soup. Honestly it was the boring part of the story. Not as gross as the hair in his meatloaf, or as confusing as all the excuses he kept making to stay. It was just something to say. He follows it with his far too boisterous laugh, as if he'd just got the crowd to split their sides. With it goes the hand. Grayson had this habit of always touching someone's shoulder when he 'landed' a joke. As his hairy hand goes over to touch the stranger's shoulder, helmet guy deftly moves his head back.

That earns him a confused stare. Helmet holds his gloved hands up. Wait, was he completely covered? A windbreaker and gloves were common enough for a rider. You’d see motorcyclists wear something to keep their skin from getting windburn, but most just have a few items to cover up with. Helmet has not only black gloves. a leather windbreaker, and long black jeans with no holes, but his shirt is blue with long sleeves tucked into his gloves. The collar of his windbreaker is standing up and covering the sides of his neck. Absolutely nowhere on this guy is any skin showing.

All of that, plus the way he purposely keeps anyone from touching his horned helmet while it's on, and the fact he talks like a kid trying not to get reprimand, something isn’tadding up. Pushing his drink away, Doug stands, making sure to loudly push his stool back as he does. The only one who bothers looking up at the noise was the two he'd been watching, plus a lone drunk woman sitting in a corner booth. Though she's been people watching all night. Might've noticed the same shit he did.

"Come on Doug. Sit back down and leave the boy alone." With a lazy smile on his face Grayson half-heartedly tries to get him to sit. He's tasted too much of his own product tonight. Fool always goes overboard. Doesn't even notice what's happening right in front of him.

"Where's yer ID kid?"

"My ID?"

"Yeah, yer ID." Doug crosses his arms. Slowly he leans in as Helmet looks back and forth between him and Grayson.

"He didn't order any liquor Doug. Just some food. Tall guy like him needs some food."

"He can get food at a diner. There's one a mile that way." Brusquely he jabs his thumb before pointing towards the south.

"That diner ain't open right now and you know it. Stop harassing my customers and let 'em eat."

“Speaking of which,” he turns to Helmet, “ya planning on takin’ that thing off, or are ya gonna to absorb it through your skin?”

"Now what did I just say Doug?"

"Grayson if this kid turns out to be a minor, what're ya gonna do? I'm keepin' ya from gettin' shut down."

"Last time I checked, I can do that myself." Grayson is down glaring holes into him. It’s foolish of him, but it is his place. Still, Doug doesn't really like the idea of his favorite shitty little sinkhole getting shut down. He could finish this outside. No doubt Grayson would find out. Still, this can't continue. It just takes one asshole to ruin a perfectly good thing.

"Fine. 'ave it your way Grace."

"Thank you for allowing me to run my own business Doug. I really appreciate it. Here, one for the road." He pushes an unopened Busch beer. Picking it up, Doug gives Helmet one last long look over. Briskly walking away, Doug heads straight for his ride.

"He's gonna be waiting for you outside." The quiet whispered warning of a slightly drunk man. Twice as loud as he realizes, and perfect. Helmet there is gonna be allowed to sneak out the back. Less witnesses. Better for a quiet, friendly talk.

Doug makes sure to drive his motorcycle past the door. He drives down the road a little bit, making sure the sounds were able to gradually grow distant. About half a mile down Doug stops. Pushing his ride back into the other lane, the old biker heads back. Stopping once the bar is in sight. He climbs off, and pushes his ride into the alley next door. Heading all the way through he walks along the sidewalk, stopping right beside the back door. He kicks the stand up and rests his motorcycle against the wall away from the door. Doug pulls out a cigarette and waits. One hand in his pocket, shoulders comfortably against the grey cement of the back wall.

It's about twenty minutes by the time Helmet sneaks out. Twenty slow minutes of watching smoke drift up into the lone, hanging light. Familiar clouds fill his face. Gathering above his head before finally even the light is spilling over with excess. Smoke crawls along its edges climbing up towards the freeing night sky. Bad habits are hard to break. Even harder when they're started young. That kid may not have been drinking today, but if this becomes a habit… he’s too young. By the way he holds himself, he most likely ain't even eighteen yet. Then again, trying to restrict the kid would be all sorts of hypocritical. After all, Doug had his first drink at twelve years old. Having snuck a few sips from the old bastard's cup. It was a long journey. Learning how to drink right. Keeping himself in check. At least Helmet seems like a mild-manner kid. Hopefully that doesn't change.

When Helmet steps out he doesn't notice Doug. Not at first. Stupid kid doesn't even check to see if anyone is out the back door. This is a dangerous world. Ya always gotta check. Else ya might get jumped, stabbed, could even be killed. That's the problem with kids though. They always think they're invincible.

"Hey there."

Helmet jumps a good foot into the air. Swiftly turning around when he lands, the kid holds up his fist. Good. At least he’s ready to defend himself.

"Put 'em down. I ain't here to hurt ya."

"Oh." The tension's gone just like that. It would've taken him longer to snap his wrinkly fingers. "Why are you out here?"

Cutting straight to the chase. He can respect that. Typically it was himself who had to cut the pleasantries short. Taking one last hit on his cigarette, Doug makes the kid wait. Watching him, waiting for the squirming to start. Helmet doesn't squirm though. He doesn't even cross his arms impatiently. Someone taught this kid good manners. Or he's just that good at masking his annoyances. Better than Doug was at his age.

Doug lets the smoke escape his lungs one last time. Looking up, he makes sure none of it hits the kid's face. That helmet looks tight enough to keep most of it out anyways. Helmet was waiting respectfully. Might as well pay the same respect back. Putting the cigarette out against his leg, Doug stuffs the bud back into his pocket.

"Listen kid, ya can't come back 'ere."

"Why?" Don't play stupid Helmet. They both know why he can't.

"You could get Grayson in trouble. I'm not tryna see the bar shut down. It's the one place in this shitty state I like."

"Oh, yeah. I can see why. Grayson's nice."

"Too nice."

"Yeah. He almost didn't let me order the first time I came by. I told him I was new in town. Wasn't sure where a cheap place to eat was, needed to grab some food for well," his words drift off.

"If you're goin' through somethin' then I'm sorry kid, but Grayson's place ain't the place where you figure it out."

"No other place lets me in wearing this." Helmet gestures to his attire. "And I can't walk around without it."

"Why not?"

Helmet reaches out towards his chest. Somewhere just beyond where his heart should've been. He stops himself the moment he notices. "There was an accident. I uh, did something."

"What sort of something?"

"There was this guy. Kind of convinced me to change. It was for the best, but now I don't look like me."

Doug tightens his pocketed fist. Sounds like some jackass was using the kid. Fucking assholes. "No one should've forced you into anything."

"Yeah but in the end it was my choice. I just moved here without my mom. Kind of needed too. I'm sorry for causing Mr. Grayson any trouble. I was just looking for a place to eat."

Sighing Doug pinches his nose. The tobacco's scent is strong on his fingers. "You got a place to stay?"

"Yeah. It's uh, a bit of a walk from here. It's temporary until we find a better place."

"So, you ain't alone?"

"No. My girlfriend came with but she usually sleeps for most of the night."

"Just you two then?"

Helmet leans his head back and forth. "You could say that."

"Next time you need food, stop by my place. Not Grayson's. You ever come here again it'll be with me. I'm a better liar than the old fool."

"No. No, no don't worry about it. I won't come by here anymore."

"Shut up and listen kiddo. I've got plenty of food at my apartment. 'af the time I ain't there anyways. Here," Doug pulls out a scrunched up gas receipt. Reaching into the bag on the side of his ride he pulls out a snapped pencil. Writing with the sharper end he hastily scrawls out his address. "Go 'ere. bring your girlfriend."

"Th-thanks, sir." Helmet's voice is panicky, awkward. Could he tell this situation was just as odd for himself? But two kids, moving to a new state all alone almost never ends well. Best he give them some help now. Before it's too late.

"No problem. 'ow old are ya anyways kid?"

"Oh I just turned sixteen a couple of months ago."

Fucker's tall for sixteen. Grayson's such a fucking idiot. Serving a sixteen year old, really? Bet he hadn't even questioned him any further upon hearing the sob story. "Is the place you're staying at safe?"

Helmet actually laughs at that. "As safe as it can be, but it's home. Now." Damn it, this kid. Did he have to be such a ray of sunshine about this? Even the way he says now is only tinged with sadness. If he’s sixteen how old is his little girlfriend? Was the old bastard who manipulated him the reason they both left? Probably. Some fucker abusing his power most likely. Tle as old as time.

"Stop by tomorrow night."

"I'll be there."

"Good. Can ya get home safe from 'ere?"

"Yeah it's not a far walk." At least he's got that going for him. Nodding along Doug kicks his stand back up. Taking that as an end to their talk, Helmet turns away. Doug turns and starts the engine, but stays in place for a bit. He watches the kid walk off, alone. His black helmet reflecting the pale yellow light from the street lamps. The decorative horns are rough and matte, almost like stone. Watching, until there wasn't a kid to watch anymore. Somehow, Doug knows this is gonna be trouble. There's that instinct in his gut. The one that goes off when he's about to be in a bar fight. Chucking that up to being pissed at the bastard, Doug ignores it, and drives home.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you liked the story. This was born from a discord discussion on a tales of Arcadia server that was a lot of fun to read. I offered to write the story but the original concept came from Le0na so please check them out.
> 
> Also some fellow fans and myself are trying to make a fan musical for tales of Arcadia! We're looking for writers, voice actors, and artists of any skill level. As well as people who can play an instrument! Here's a link to take the survey: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScTVvg-55LjgOz7S-E433ZTTeEen_uGtSI_zXBEpaX5N6UHbw/viewform?usp=sf_link


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